


Changeling

by Skylark42



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark42/pseuds/Skylark42
Summary: After the mountain, Jaskier goes on a journey to find out who and what he truly is. Geralt joins him on his quest, and the two have to sort out exactly what they mean to each other
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to do a fic that explores why Jaskier doesn't seem to age, so this is it. Poor Jaskier doesn't even know himself in this fic, but he and Geralt are going to find out together. And they'll have to deal with what Geralt said on the mountain, because Geralt owes my boy an apology dammit.

Julian Alfred Pankratz was born on a quiet winter morning at the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage.

Of course, Jaskier had already been born some days prior, though none of the sisters could be sure exactly of the date, as the child had been left howling on their doorstep in the dead of night. He'd been naked and hungry, wrapped in a fine blue silk blanket with the name 'Jaskier' embroidered on it in golden colored thread. Sister Margaret had found him and brought him inside, and the other sisters had all instantly fell in love with him.

Alfred Pankratz had come days later, after the still birth of his one and only son. His wife, the Lady Pankratz was mad with grief, and would not eat, would not sleep. Her loss consumed her. So he had come looking for a child that might fill the void, a newborn babe, if one could be found.

Sister Margaret had shown him Jaskier, explained his good temper. Unlike other babies his age, he hadn't cried since that night they found him. He smiled often, and made no fuss when it came to eating and changing. Everyone there thought he was just darling.

He had a passing resemblance to their own stillborn son, the same coloring, save his eyes were the wrong shade of blue. But he was a healthy child, and one who needed a home. The sisters were glad to have him go off with a viscount, knowing he'd be well-cared for and afforded more opportunities than he could have received there.

Alfred had taken him home and named him Julian Alfred Pankratz. Since he had no birthday of his own, he gave him the one of his dead son. The Lady Pankratz took to him at once, behaving as though he were her own child returned from the grave. And for eighteen years, Jaskier lived a happy, pampered life as Julian.

On his eighteenth birthday, he found a blue silk blanket in the attic with the name Jaskier sewn unto it. When he asked his mother about it, she had went pale and burst into tears. His father told him the tale, that he had been adopted when he was only days old.

This was a revelation to Jaskier. All his life he had felt as though he didn't belong, and now he understood why. He decided then and there, that he should set off on his own, try to find his own place in the world. In the fall he'd be starting school at Oxenfurt, so traveling around a bit for a few months would be nothing.

His mother had pleaded with him not to go, but he'd insisted. He needed time away from home to process all that had been revealed. Maybe one day, he'd go back to the Sisters of Mercy and find out where he really came from. See if it gave him any answers. Until then, it'd be easy to take Jaskier as his stage name, the one he'd use when he became a famous bard.

Only a few months later, he met a Witcher in Posada, and his life truly began...


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt looks for Jaskier, Jaskier visits home

Something is wrong about Jaskier.

It's when Yennefer mentions the crow's feet he doesn't have that Geralt puts it together. Jaskier should be on the wrong side of forty by now, but he could pass for ten years younger, or more. Geralt hasn't paid it much mind, but Jaskier has looked the same nearly all the time he knew him. Geralt had thought that perhaps he simply aged well, but it can't be that simple. He needs to know the truth.

(Or maybe, this is just an excuse to chase after him.)

Geralt makes his way to Oxenfurt first, because that is where Jaskier goes when they are apart. He lectures there sometimes, and Geralt knows he has a home there, some small place tucked away from the world that Geralt's seen only a few times. Oxenfurt is Jaskier's home.

(Once, on a night very long ago, Jaskier had told Geralt he was his home, but Geralt hadn't said it back. He wishes now he had said it back.)

Oxenfurt is a crowded, bustling place with scholars and students flitting about. Most don't give a passing look toward Geralt, but those that do whisper about the White Wolf. It seems Jaskier has spread his reputation to here as well. Geralt has only been here a handful of times, passing through on the way from a hunt. (If some of those times he went out of his way to visit Jaskier, well, no one has to know.)

He goes to the school and finds a classroom he knows Jaskier lectures in. It'd be too convenient to find him there, but someone may know where he is. The large room is empty save for one girl, a student around twenty with dark hair and dark skin and bright eyes. She's lovely in that way one can be when they are just on the cusp of adulthood, their youth still clinging to them.

“I'm looking for Jaskier.”

She blinks at him then smiles and tucks a bit of hair behind her ear. “Oh, you mean Professor Pankratz? He's not here. I heard he went home for the semester.”

Something about the way she says home makes Geralt think she isn't referring to Jaskier's little house just a few streets away. “Home?”

“To Lettenhove,” the girl says. “Shame, really, I'd wanted to work with him. He's just brilliant, you know, I've attended all his lectures.”

It's plain the girl is enamored of Jaskier. Geralt wonders if he's slept with her, decides he probably hasn't. Seducing a student seems something Jaskier would find wrong. The man did have his morals about these things, though they were strange and didn't seem to concern marriage. “Lettenhove.”

In all the years he has known Jaskier, he has never been with him to Lettenhove. It's a place Jaskier preferred to avoid, though Geralt doesn't know why. The girl bites her lip and glances at him shyly. “Are you going to find Professor Pankratz?”

“Yes,” Geralt decides as he answers. He needs to find Jaskier. (He needs to see him again, be sure he's alright. Make amends.)

“Are you him then, the White Wolf, the one from the songs?”

“...Yes,” Geralt answers, though he doesn't say Jaskier takes liberties with the truth of things. It seems cruel to shatter this girl's illusions.

“That's so romantic,” the girl gushes. “Could you tell me some of your stories?”

She has that look in her eye like Jaskier had so many years ago. And Geralt has no desire to earn another bard trailing after him. One is quite enough.

“I have to be heading off,” he says. It's gentler than just saying no.

“Of course, you'll want to be on the professor's trail,” she says then darts her eyes about the room. “You don't have to answer this, but are you and the professor...you know, together? We've all wondered it.”

Geralt doesn't know what to say to that. He and Jaskier are many things, but they are not a couple. Though he'd be a fool not to notice the way Jaskier sometimes looked at him. And there was the mountain, asking him to go away. Jaskier saying he was trying to find what pleased him. Could it be that he was saying Geralt was what pleased him? But no, Geralt wasn't made for someone like Jaskier.

“No.”

It's the truth, but saying it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It feels dishonest somehow. It doesn't matter, he'll find Jaskier and sort things out. He'll apologize for what he said, and things will go back to how they were before.

It'll all be fine.

///

Things can't go back to the way they were before. That is the one thing Jaskier is sure of. It's taken him years of silent pining to work out exactly what he feels towards Geralt, to realize he's head over heels in love with him. Then Geralt had said what he said, had been so unfairly cruel.

The thing is, he knows that deep down Geralt didn't mean it, but that isn't the point. He's hardly going to let himself pine away after someone who speaks to him like that. He isn't some boy willing to bear the insults for a good song anymore, he and Geralt are past that, are friends. Were friends.

“Julian, are you drunk?”

It's his mother at the door, though why she's come he can hardly guess. He's been locked in his old bedroom for two days, and for two days he's been drunk. He always did take losing his lovers hard, but it's harder still when they weren't ever lovers, it seems.

“Yes, Mother, I am still drunk.”

There is a sigh outside the door and his mother pushes her way inside. Her brown hair is streaked through with silver and lines are on her face. She looks good for her age, but she's still a woman of sixty. Time has been kinder to him than her. He closes his eyes and presses his face back into his pillow. He hears the rustle of fabric and feels the bed dip as his mother sits beside him. He peeks open an eye and sees the red silk of her skirts. She's always looked lovely in red.

“Whose broke your heart, my dear, sweet boy?” Her voice is gentle, as gentle as when he was ill as a child and she spoke softly to him, comforting him through a fever. Her hand comes to thread through his hair. He half wants to put his head in her lap like he was a small child again, but a man his age doesn't do such things.

“Is it that Countess again?” Ah, the Countess de Stael, his other great love. It's been ages since he thought of her. He believes she's married now. He shakes his head and buries his face further into the pillow. He's too drunk for this conversation. Or perhaps not drunk enough.

The hand strokes through his hair again, gentle and soothing. “Is it that man in your songs? The witcher?”

Jaskier lifts his head and looks at her. “Geralt is a man.”

His mother smiles softly, “We both know that doesn't matter to you, dear.”

“How-”

“A mother knows such things,” she says and pats his cheek. “It's never mattered. Though I had hoped you'd pick someone less dangerous and settle down.”

Jaskier reaches out to the nightstand and finds a bottle of wine still half full. He takes a long drink from it. “Ah, it doesn't matter, because he hasn't picked me. He loves another.”

“Then he's a fool.”

Jaskier flops back unto his pillow. “Your opinion is biased.”

“Of course it is, you're my son.”

“But I'm not though, am I?” Jaskier says. His mother goes stiff. “That's not what I mean, of course you're my mother. But you didn't birth me. The woman who did didn't want me. It seems no one wants me.”

“Has anyone told you that you get rather maudlin when you drink, darling?”

Jaskier laughs. “Is that your way of telling me to sober up?”

The hand returns to his hair again, slow and relaxing. “Your father—god rest his soul—would be in hysterics to see you like this. But he isn't here, is he? You do what you need to do to feel better. Just don't wallow in pity too long. Nothing good can come of it.”

Maybe it's the wine, but Jaskier has a sudden idea. “I'm going to find her.”

“Who?”

“My birth mother. I'm going to find her and ask why she didn't want me.”

His mother stands, paces the room. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You may not like what you find.” His mother's eyes cut over to him. “You were always different as a child. Such a quiet baby, you never cried. You were nearly two before you spoke your first words, I was afraid something was wrong. Though once you started to talk, you never did shut up.”

“Ha ha.”

His mother moves to the window. She looks outside, face contemplative. “You were sick a lot as a child, so many times I thought I would lose you. But you always pulled through. And your voice, you have such a lovely voice.”

Jaskier isn't sure how those two things relate.

“I heard stories about children like that. Babies that were too quiet, that were sickly, children who didn't talk. Horrible stories.”

Oh. _Oh_. Surely his mother didn't believe...

“Those are just stories, they aren't true.”

His mother turns her face to him. There were tears welling in her eyes. “You don't age, Julian. Not like normal people. You still look so young.”

“I moisturize.”

His mother laughs. “What if it isn't that simple? What if you're something else? You're my son, I don't want to lose you. I beg you, leave this alone.”

“Lose me? Why would you lose me?”

She takes a shaky breath. “What if you're a monster? Your witcher kills monsters.”

Jaskier feels stricken. “Geralt wouldn't, he'd never-No, he wouldn't hurt me.”

“But he isn't the only one, is he?” his mother says. “If anyone were to learn, you'd be in danger. It's better to not know.”

Perhaps she is right. But now his curiosity is inflamed and he most know. He must know the truth about what he is. “I have to know, Mother. I have to know.”

His mother crosses the room in fast strides and takes his face in her hands. “You are mine. Regardless of what you learn, you are _my son_. Always.”

“Always.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes to Lettenhove to find Jaskier and they are reunited.

The manor of the viscount of Lettenhove is a sprawling stone estate with ivory climbing up its walls and steeped windows. It's a beautiful home, the sort Geralt can imagine a young Jaskier growing up in, surrounded by warmth and love. He dismounts Roach, and goes to the mahogany doors to knock.

A woman with silver streaked hair opens it, blue eyes sweeping over him quickly. There's a stern look on her face, a pinched expression that shows her displeasure at seeing him. “Geralt of Rivia, I presume.”

Her gaze is penetrating. Geralt feels similar to how he feels when facing down some monster or dangerous foe. “I'm here to see Jaskier.”

“I'll see if Julian wants to see you,” she says, and closes the door in his face. Geralt can guess the woman is Jaskier's mother—and from her response Jaskier probably isn't happy with him. A minute later she's back at the door and giving him an icy look. “Julian says he'll see you. He's upstairs, second door on the left.”

Geralt trudges up the stairs to Jaskier's room. He stops outside and considers knocking, but Jaskier had said he'd see him. He opens the door and peers inside. It's a large room with a king sized bed in the middle, adorned with black silk sheets and a fine red quilt. There is a wool rug on the floor resting in front of a small fireplace, and two high-backed leather chairs in front of it. A large window with a bench looks down on the courtyard below. Shelves line the walls, packed with different books and sheets of music. A desk sits in the far corner, parchment and books spilled across the top messily. It's a room that looks lived in and Geralt wonders how often Jaskier has visited home.

Jaskier is in one of the leather chairs near the fireplace, feet propped up on an ottoman, bottle dangling from his fingers. Geralt can smell the wine from the door, a sharp, pungent smell, not entirely unpleasant, but not Jaskier's normal smell. “Geralt,” he says, standing and wavering on his feet, arms gesticulating wildly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“You're drunk.”

“An astute observation,” Jaskier says, moving closer to him. He's clad in nothing but his small clothes and a silk robe the exact shade of blue as his eyes. The sash is barely tied closed, showing a wide expanse of skin down to his navel. Geralt has seen him undressed plenty of times, it's part of traveling together so long, but this feels strangely more intimate than that. Maybe it's being in Jaskier's old room, but it feels like he's invaded something private, like he's seeing Jaskier naked for the first time.

Jaskier wobbles over until there's only a foot of space between them. “Why are you here, Geralt?”

There are many thoughts that fly through his head, thoughts of apologies and things left unsaid, but the words that escape his mouth are “There's something wrong with you.”

Jaskier stares at him. “Something wrong with _me_?”

That came out wrong. Geralt doesn't know how to fix this, how to stop putting his foot in his mouth. After what he said, he should just apologize, but he doesn't know how Jaskier will respond. “That's not what I meant.”

“Then why don't you tell me what you do mean, Geralt.” There's a nasty edge to Jaskier's voice, one Geralt has rarely heard before.

“I didn't mean what I said. Before.”

Jaskier snorts. “You mean when you blamed me for all _your_ problems? When you said you wanted me off your hands? Well, I left, but here you are.”

Geralt hadn't expected Jaskier to be this angry. It's not that he doesn't deserve it, it's just Jaskier has never gotten this mad with him before. Jaskier is good at forgiving and forgetting. At not making Geralt say things he already knows. “I wanted to...apologize.”

“This is a sad excuse of an apology,” Jaskier says and takes a long drink from the bottle in his hand. Geralt feels he's probably had enough, but it'd be detrimental to his forgiveness if he said so.

“I'm sorry, Jaskier.”

“And that makes everything better, does it?” Jaskier says. He moves away from Geralt and falls into the chair. His eyes sink closed. “What do you want from me, Geralt?”

It's a good question, one he hasn't thought through. He wants things to return to normal, but he has a sinking feeling that they cannot. So instead of speaking that he says “Why don't you age like normal humans?”

Jaskier laughs. “I'll let you know when I find out.”

Geralt goes to the other chair and sits across from him. “You don't know?”

Jaskier opens his eyes and looks at Geralt. “Did you know I was adopted? Course you didn't, I never told you. Don't know what my real parents were.”

It seems like something that's bothering Jaskier. And Geralt wants so desperately for things to be okay between them. So much that he doesn't think before saying “Do you want to find out?”

“What, you want to help me?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier looks at him with bleary eyes. His mouth twists into a frown. “Thought you didn't want me around.”

“I told you I didn't mean that.”

Jaskier sits the bottle down on the floor and rests his head back against the chair. His eyes close and he's quiet for a long moment. Geralt almost thinks he's falling asleep, but he can hear his heartbeat and it's too fast for that. “I'm leaving in the morning to find my birth mother. You could come along, if you like.”

It's an olive branch if Geralt has ever seen one. “Yes.”

Jaskier peeks open an eye. “I'll get you set up in the guest room. We leave at dawn...or whenever I wake up.”

He'll have one hell of a hangover in the morning, so Geralt doubts it will be as early as dawn. It means wasted daylight, less time to travel. He says nothing about it, sensing this peace between them is fragile, something that needs to be handled carefully. “I met your mother.”

“Did you? She doesn't much like you.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at Geralt's lips. “I could tell.”

Jaskier sighs theatrically and rises to his feet. “Come on then, I'll show you your room. Have a bath drawn, you smell like Roach. How is Roach doing these days?”

“She's missed you,” Geralt says softly.

Jaskier smiles a genuine smile and it makes something warm blossom in Geralt's chest. “I've missed her too.”

He knows neither of them are talking about Roach, and it feels good, knowing Jaskier has missed him. He only hopes he can make things right between them again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is only the prologue, the story will properly begin the next chapter. But I'd like to hear what everyone thinks, so feel free to comment.


End file.
